A Story of His Own
by Witchy Bee
Summary: The story of Carver Hawke: warrior, templar, son, brother. This is his search for belonging.
1. In War, Victory

**A/N:** This will be a collection of oneshots centered around Carver. Love him or hate him, he's still your brother, and I love him. Please review!

)O(

"This must be a very different pace from serving King Cailan." Marian remarks.

"It's just one more change, though. The real end for me was Ostagar." the guard says; then she looks at him. "What about you, Carver? You were there. Do you feel something similar?"

"No." he states, coldly.

"All right, then." Aveline turns back to Marian. "Bit of a tit, your brother."

For him, Ostagar was only the beginning. Why is everyone so determined to dig up the past? They can't simply let things be. All he wants is to move forward, create something new. Lothering, Ostagar, the Amell estate...nothing changes. They're all going nowhere at this rate.

And he has no place in any of it. He never did.

_. . ._

_Carver was just eighteen when the king called for troops to battle the Blight. _

_Lothering had few warriors to spare. His siblings, of course, had to stay home and be protected like the delicate little mage flowers they were. Carver set off on the march south with two others. The first was a man a year older than him and at least twice his size. Hugh was a brute; the kind of person who would save your life in combat and never let you forget it._

_"It's not murder if they don't have souls." he often said.  
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_And then there was Aveline. A redheaded woman with a sharp blade and a strong shield; she was certainly the no nonsense type._

_"So...Aveline, hm? That's a curious name." Carver observed. "Just like the knight in the Orlesian legend."_

_"And yours is the most ordinary name in the world." Aveline deadpanned, then sighed. "Just don't start, please. I've heard it my whole life. It's a wish my father made. And I did want to be a knight, but...I'm a soldier. I'm proud of who I am."_

_"It's a good story, you know."_

_"Maybe when you're not constantly being compared to a martyr." Aveline agreed. "Were you named after anyone?"_

_"Not as far as I know."_

_"You're lucky, then." she said. "It leaves you free to choose your own path."  
><em>

_They reached Ostagar in a matter of days, and Carver was struck by the tremendous scale of the ancient Tevinter structure. It was this great white piece of civilization in the middle of so much untamed wilderness, inhabited only by witches and darkspawn._

_The Circle of Magi had sent mages to assist in the fight, shadowed always by templars. A few of the notorious Tanquils worked at an almost mechanical pace, enchanting runes, their dead eyes never straying from the task at hand. They never noticed him watching. Whenever he saw those breathing husks of human beings, Carver began to feel fiercely protective of his sisters. No one deserved that fate._

_But soon the battles started, and Lothering seemed a world away..._

_They did quite well, all things considered. Ferelden forces clashed with the darkspawn several times, and each time they achieved victory. But there were always losses. Every night, they cremated the dead. Darkspawn corpses also had to be burned lest their blood taint the earth. The foul creatures kept on coming back in greater numbers. Scouts returned from the Wilds with the most unimaginably horrible but true stories; the ground broke open and swallowed men whole, they said. No one knew where they took them or for what purpose. It was this kind of senselessly cruel thing that unnerved him._

_At night, they stayed up late, drinking and laughing and playing cards. Seasoned warriors would swap stories of battles from long ago, but mostly everyone talked about their sweethearts. They did this, truthfully, to help them ignore the fact that someone who had been amongst them just a day before was now gone forever to the Maker's side._

_"I've got a girl back home, in Denerim," one man might say, "with the most lovely eyes you've ever seen. And pretty nice tits, too."_

_"Oh?" another would join in. "Well my girl. . ."_

_Generally, the older men - who weren't necessarily 'old' but to him they seemed so - the ones with wives and children to fight for, spoke of women with reverence. Not at all the way these boys carried on. Some tried to give the female soldiers a hard time, but this happened rarely, since it was common knowledge that any woman with a sword would not hesitate to cut your balls off if she did not desire your affections._

_"What about you, Hawke?" Hugh called. "You got some sweet lass waiting for you in Lothering?"_

_Carver did not have a sweetheart, per se. Except maybe Peaches, but she wasn't the sort of girl you brought home to Mother, especially not his mother. While Leandra had become a tough Ferelden woman over the years, she still wanted her children to marry someone of relatively decent social status and live a comfortable lifestyle. The only exception to this might have been if he could successfully convince Leandra that he loved the woman, which would of course involve taking her home to Mother and the rest of his family._

_There were a few problems with this idea. First of all, he didn't love Peaches anyway. Second of all, she was dumb as a post. He'd been with plenty of women in the past, maybe even loved one or two of them, but Carver had yet to find a girl he could bring home to a family of apostates._

_And so he told Hugh about Peaches, which inevitably led to cheers and pats on the back and howls of laughter._

_"Don't let it get to you." Aveline said. "They'll make a joke of anything. You should have seen how they reacted when they found out I'm married."_

_"You're married?" Carver raised an eyebrow._

_"Is that so surprising? I know I'm not exactly what you might consider young..."_

_"No, it's not that." he amended. "You just don't seem like the type."_

_"I suppose that's because I'm here, isn't it?" Aveline became very quiet for a moment before speaking again, softer now. "I fell in love, it happens. I'm a soldier and he's a templar. Duty comes first. Sometimes we have to put others before ourselves. If we'd wanted a normal married life with children and all that, we could have had it. But we can't ignore our callings, not even for each other."_

_. . ._

_There was this moment, Carver remembered, where the storm raged on and the darkspawn still fought, but everything else was suddenly very still. The beacon had been lit at last, and everyone simply waited, expecting the teyrn's reinforcements to charge any second, ready to defend the king and his army. But he never did._

_So Carver ran. He wasn't about to let himself be dragged underground to whatever terrible fate awaited him. Perhaps it was a cowardly thing to do, but there was more at stake here than his life. Carver had a family to think about. He must protect them._

_And he assumed Aveline was dead along with the rest. It was clear now that hope was a dangerous thing. It made people reckless and stupid. No longer would he put his faith in others. Carver changed. Something inside him grew cold that day._

_. . ._

Marian finally finishes discussing the details of an ambush, some sort of official city guard work. Then they turn to leave the barracks.

"Carver," Aveline calls after him once the others have already gone. He stops, but does not turn back. "If you ever want to talk...to someone who was there, I mean. Well, you know where to find me."

"Right," he replies. "Thank you, Aveline."

"Ah." the warrior laughs. "You're not such a tit after all."


	2. Running

_Carver ran. There was little else he could do. He had to get home, had to warn them of the Blight and the teyrn's betrayal. King Cailan was dead. The darkspawn were victorious, and Lothering wouldn't be safe for very much longer._

_It felt like his heart might explode. Each breath he took brought searing pain that tore through his lungs. He ran until his muscles screamed in agony, and even then he still kept going. There wasn't time to stop; he was lucky to still be alive. Well, depending on what the alternative was._

_Eventually, he realized that his armor was slowing him down. He hastily took off his breastplate, gauntlets, helm, and the rest of the damaged metal pieces. Everything was stained with blood. Once he had stripped down to his vest and trousers and boots, Carver kept running._

_He ran until he couldn't see Ostagar anymore._

_The Wilds blurred around him. Soon the whole world quickly became dark, out of focus, sinking into blackness. Carver was vaguely aware of the fact that he was lying on the ground. He had tripped over something - possibly even his own feet - and now he was dead, like he should have been already._

_The voices drifted in and out._

_"Is he dead?"_

_". . .just unconscious. . .exhausted."_

_"We can't leave him. . .have to help. . ."_

_And suddenly he was back at Ostagar, in the thick of it all. He watched as Hugh staggered toward him, a hurlock's axe lodged in his skull. And he watched as the man crumpled to the ground with a bloody grin on his face. There had been nothing else he could do after that but run._

_The next thing he knew, a dog was licking him._

_"Stop that, Greagoir!" a woman commanded. The hound corrected his behavior immediately. "Maker, boy, what am I going to do with you? I don't know why your previous master never taught you obedience. Maybe it's impossible." Greagoir whimpered apologetically. "Well, at least he's awake, I suppose. How are you feeling, ser?"_

_Carver coughed. His throat was too dry to answer. The woman offered him some water which he drank too quickly and ended up coughing again._

_"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned._

_"I will be," he said. "I just need to get back. My family..."_

_"Well, you're not going anywhere in this state," the woman said matter-o-factly. "At least let me heal you. That looks like a pretty bad cut on your shoulder. It could become infected, if it isn't already."_

_This brought about two revelations, the first being that she was a mage. Yet again a mage had saved his ass. The second was the small but fairly deep gash that had previously gone unnoticed; it was likely the result of a genlock's dagger. Once he finally acknowledged it, the pain was immediate._

_He supposed he should consider herself lucky, to be alive, to have escaped a massacre like that with barely a scratch. But no one felt lucky anymore.  
><em>

_She saw the way he looked at the cut as if seeing it for the first time and queried in a curious manner, "It really doesn't hurt at all?"_

_Carver shrugged, which only caused him more discomfort. "Everything hurts."_

_The mage held her hand just inches away from the wound; soft blue light began to emanate from her palm until it was healed completely. Her magic also found its way into his joints, relieving the ache there. His body felt rejuvenated. A pity it could not soothe his mind as well._

_"Now," she began, her voice as soft as the light from her hands. "What happened?"_

_The end of the bloody world, he thought. "Ostagar happened." Carver said simply. There was an edge to his voice. When he looked at the mage, her eyes were wide._

_"You were at Ostagar?" she asked incredulously. He merely nodded in reponse._

_"So were we," a new voice spoke this time. All at once it occurred to him that she wasn't alone. A man sat in the grass not far, watching them. Indeed he looked just as shocked and miserable and so irreparably broken as Carver felt._

_He could almost see the ghosts around him._

_"I...think some introductions are in order." the mage declared. "My name is Solona, and this is Alistair. You've already met Greagoir. Morrigan is around here somewhere..."_

_"I'm Carver Hawke."_

_"Right..." Solona exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Alistair that he wasn't supposed to have seen. "Look, not all the Grey Wardens died. Alistair and I are the last in Ferelden. Keep this to yourself, though. I wouldn't even have said anything, but you were there."_

_"That's good thinking. If Loghain finds out, he'll turn most of Ferelden against you."_

_"Don't. Speak. His. Name!" Alistair snarled. Carver wasn't sure exactly when the Warden had gotten to his feet, but suddenly he was looming over him, sword pointed right at his throat. He could feel the cold metal pressing lightly against his flesh. Part of him wanted for it just to be over. But he still had a family to protect._

_"Alistair..." Solona pleaded in that same soft voice as before. "Please don't do this. Carver isn't your enemy, remember? You know Duncan wouldn't have wanted this."_

_The Warden didn't react immediately. Carver wondered if healing magic could mend a torn jugular if need be. But then Alistair sheathed his sword and walked away without another word, his gaze fixed upon the ground._

_"I'm sorry," Solona said, looking down at her hands, anywhere but his face.  
><em>

_"He needs you," Carver remarked. "You should be talking to him, not me. I have to get moving anyway; I've wasted enough time."_

_"Where are you going?"_

_"Lothering," he replied._

_As it happened, they were also making their way to the village. It was only logical that they travel together, at least for the sake of safety in numbers if nothing else. Though Carver was more than a little apprehensive about spending time with a man who had almost killed him._

_Sometimes you must do stupid things to survive._

_. . ._

They are running, led by Marian, closely pursued by yet another group of darkspawn. Bethany turns and sets the creatures ablaze.

"I think that's all of them," she says.

"For the moment," Carver mutters. He knows better than anyone not to underestimate the Blighted beasts.

"Maker save us." Mother is on the verge of tears. "We've lost it all...everything your father and I built."

"We have to keep moving," Marian reminds them.

"Yes, you're right." Of course, Marian is always right.

"We should have ran sooner!" Bethany says fearfully. "Why did we wait so long?"

"Why are you looking at me?" Carver grows defensive when he notices all of them staring. "I've been running since Ostagar!"


	3. In Death, Sacrifice

**A/N:** This is a short chapter, but it's kind of sad so...Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed; I really appreciate it!

)O(

"_So what exactly did this...Flemeth person say?" Carver asked._

_"She told us to build an army." Solona said. "She also told us to take her daughter along. And considering that she had saved our lives, I figured it was the least we could do."_

_"You act as if it was a favor to her," Morrigan scoffed. The golden-eyed Witch of the Wilds was not one to be trifled with, that much he knew, especially if her mother was indeed the sorceress of legend. "I'm just happy to be away from that old hag for a time."_

_Carver quickly came to understand the fragile dynamic between them all. Alistair and Morrigan would bait each other with taunts and barbed words, settling into an almost playful back and forth of insulting banter. He wasn't exactly sure why they disliked one another so much. It apparently had something to do with Morrigan being an apostate and Alistair being a former templar. Solona was the magic glue that somehow held everything together. _

_She had a good heart and a compassionate disposition. It took quite a bit to anger her. She was a rare thing, this kind soul, who helped others simply for the sake of helping them. And of course, the mage's fearless mabari war hound, Greagoir, trotted at her side._

_And Carver didn't have much of a place among those misfits either._

_Then the day took an abrupt turn for the worse. Suddenly, the dog wasn't at Solona's side anymore; he was running ahead of the group as fast as his four legs would carry him. The mage called out but he didn't even slow down, let alone stop. The mabari charged at the same steady pace, and they were left with no choice but to run after him, though Carver did not like the idea of more running._

_"What is it, boy?" Solona asked as they approached the dog. "Did you find something?"_

_He had found something, or rather, someone._

_Thankfully, Carver did not recognize the man, though he was quite sure no one would be able to recognize him now anyway. The soldier's skin was blotchy and dark, as if bruised, and black veins were beginning to pulse with poison blood, some of which spilled out from a gaping wound to his abdomen._

_"Please..." the dying man rasped. "The song is getting louder...If you're not an illusion, kill me now before I turn...I don't want to become one of them..."_

_"He's been tainted," Alistair said as if they couldn't tell. It was the first time he'd spoken in hours. "The only cure is to take the Joining. And even if we could do that, it would just slow the corruption's progress, not stop it. The damage can't be undone. I'm sorry."_

_"He must be in a lot of pain," Solona added quietly, though it sounded like an understatement to Carver. "It would be cruel to let him suffer like this when we have the means to end his misery."_

_Morrigan said nothing._

_The healer knelt down and touched his face gently, the same blue light surrounding her fingertips as before. She was already a Warden and thus had no reason to fear the Blight sickness. He seemed to relax a little._

_"There, now," Solona smiled. "Don't worry; you won't feel a thing. I promise."_

_"Andraste bless you, miss," the man breathed, shallow breathing though it was. "Maybe they're wrong about you mages."_

_Then she moved her hand to his chest. This time the light was a very dark red, contrasting sharply with her pale hands. She remained like that for a while, until the soldier's heart finally stopped beating._

_This wasn't even the first time Carver had watched a man die._

_Everyone was very still for a moment. No one spoke. Solona slowly rose to her feet after closing the man's eyes._

_They built a pyre for the nameless soldier and watched him burn, turning to ashes and bones._

_Carver could have so easily been in his place._

_But it was because of this experience that when Wesley began to show signs of corruption, he knew the only real cure was a quick and merciful death._

. . .

Bethany...his sister, his twin...is dead.

Why did she have to charge toward the ogre? Why didn't Marian stop her? Why didn't _Carver _stop her?

Aveline is alive, at least. But her husband won't be so lucky, assuming they can even be called such. Wesley is tainted, and he knows it. Carver knows it, too. Flemeth, the old woman who has just swooped down from the sky in the form of a great dragon and saved them all from the darkspawn's clutches, knows it.

But Aveline isn't willing to accept the truth. Flemeth explains that it is the only choice they have, and Wesley begs his wife to end it before it begins. The couple exchange final words in hushed tones.

"Thank you..." the templar whispers.

Killing someone you love cannot even be compared to killing those mindless creatures.

For Carver, watching him die is worse than the nameless soldier. But it cannot compare to watching Bethany sacrifice herself.

"Without an end, there can be no peace," Flemeth says. "It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun..."


	4. Wishes

At last, they reach Gwaren. Here they take ship to the Free Marches. But it is a long journey, on a ship frequently lashed by violent waves. Weeks pass like this, stuck in that dark hold with countless other refugees just as scared and grieving as they are.

Marian withdrawals into her own head, eyes hard and solemn. Mother weeps for her youngest daughter. Aveline, however, acts entirely too strong.

"You shouldn't blame yourself." Carver says.

"I shouldn't," Aveline agrees. "But I do."

"That makes sense…" he mutters, because it makes absolutely no sense at all.

"Sometimes things aren't always logical." She sighs. "I should have realized sooner. I should have known...I only saw what I wanted to see. It's my fault."

"No." Carver insists. "You're not the darkspawn. You didn't do this."

"I stabbed him in the heart."

He doesn't know what to say to that.

_. . ._

_The darkspawn threat was immanent, like a raincloud hanging over their heads. And nowhere was this truer than in Lothering. People were preparing for the worst, hoping for the best, and fleeing while they had the chance._

_To his great surprise and relief, Bethany and Mother met him just outside the village, followed by Marian._

"_Carver!" Leandra cried. "Oh, thank the Maker you're safe! We had assumed the worst…" She took a few breaths and seemed to calm down. "When the teyrn came through with his men, he said the Grey Wardens had betrayed King Cailan and all was lost. Nothing has gone as planned. I…"_

"_Loghain is a liar as well as a traitor and a usurper." the ex-templar snapped. His words burned with passionate hatred and pain._

_So I suppose it's all right to say his name now, Carver noted, but did not voice it._

"_Alistair…" Solona warned, her tone more tired than threatening._

"_What?" Mother asked, confused. "Who are you? Carver, who are these people?"_

_Oh, right. Of course some introductions were in order._

"_These are my...friends...from Ostagar." he said. "They're Grey Wardens. I probably wouldn't be here were it not for them."_

_It took his family a moment to absorb this new information. Meanwhile, Solona shook his mother's hand. The mage was like a happy puppy around people. Bethany nearly doubled over with laughter when she learned that Solona had named her dog after the Knight-Commander of the Templars. But Marian wasn't entirely sure they could be trusted; she always questioned the company Carver chose to keep._

"_You never told me your sisters were mages!" Solona exclaimed, smiling brightly. He'd hoped he never would have to tell her. It was a family matter, one best kept private. But, little did he know, Solona was family._

_Loghain had lied about the Wardens' betrayal, but the darkspawn part was true. The Blight sped along a collusion path with civilization, starting with their home. Lothering would likely be destroyed within the week, if not sooner. They had to run. They had to run fast._

_. . ._

"How exactly did you escape Ostagar?" he asks.

"I didn't." Aveline replies. "Wesley was trying to find me. I wish I hadn't been there. I wish I'd run, like you. Maybe he'd still be with us." _Maybe..._

"Sometimes I wish I had stayed." Carver admits. If he had never come back, they'd have been left with no choice but to go without him. Maybe then that ogre would not have been there to kill Bethany. But, of course, they still would have a son to mourn.

You just can't win if the Blight's concerned, only survive.

"You don't mean that." Aveline says.

"Neither do you."


	5. Of Dogs & Debts

They are fighting again. Their voices carry through Gamlen's tiny hovel with ease. Mother wants the best for her children; she wants them to be nobility. It's a foolish idea. It won't bring their family back. They were not raised as such, so why chase after useless titles and riches now? Isn't it enough that they spent the last year trying to pay their way into this city as mercenaries? If they are going to work their way up in society, they will do it on their own.

Where did it all go so wrong?

"Mother didn't even want that life back until we got dumped here. And you only care because we're under templar scrutiny!"

"Very well, Carver." Marian speaks to him like a child, barely suppressing her frustration. "What's your plan?"

He doesn't even have to think about his answer. It's all he's been thinking about recently.

"I'd look forward, make something new. Stop paying debts for old men." Carver glances in Gamlen's direction. "And if I had to go backward, I'm not looking for ancient names. I'd fix what's important. What went wrong."

"We can't just go back," Marian protests. Carver hates that she is right. They can't go back, to Ferelden, to Lothering, to a time before their family was in shambles. A time when Bethany's smile still lit up a room. He misses it, all of it, as irritating as it was sometimes.

"We wouldn't need to if you'd done it right," he claims. "Lothering was our home, not this place. We could have stood our ground. You could have stopped that ogre from killing Bethany."

Silence takes over while he awaits her response. There's this invisible line, this unspoken boundary, and he has just crossed it. Bethany's death is a card they simply do not play. It disrespects her memory, and he's gone and done it anyway.

Marian steps forward, very calmly. For a moment Carver thinks she might punch him or maybe zap him, and he would deserve it. He knows that.

"You're right," she says quietly, looking into his eyes so he can tell if she is sincere.

"What?" Marian admitting he is right about anything comes as a shock. She might as well have zapped him.

"I'd change all of that if I could, but we don't have that option, and you know it. Now do you feel better getting that off your chest?"

"I...I suppose."

"Good, because I keep every death with me. If you want that weight, make sure you're ready to take it."

She stares at him for a moment longer before turning away.

_. . ._

_The most recent battle had left them all a bit worse for wear. Carver couldn't speak for the rest of the men, but he barely had the strength to do anything but play cards. And that was just what they did._

_"The game, gentlemen, is Wicked Grace," announced Caldwell, for he had provided the deck tonight and thus was allowed to choose what they played. Barling made a fuss because he wanted to play Diamondback, but he quickly shut up when his cards were dealt._

_Carver looked over his own cards in dismay. Hugh sat next to him, already rather drunk, his mind not focused on winning this hand. In the end, a woman named Faye gracefully - smugly - swept the small pile of coppers to her side of the table. She was a cunning rogue with quick hands and an even quicker tongue, both of which had been rumored to find their way into unsavory places..._

_"Rodgers, you cheating bitch!" Caldwell grumbled. Rodgers was Faye's surname, but she preferred to be called by her given name instead._

_"Oh, boys, you're just jealous," she purred. "Everyone knows Wicked Grace is a woman's game, after all."_

_The fun and games went on late into the evening._

_"Well, that's twenty more silver for the 'lady,''' Terrey said begrudgingly. They all set down their cards and groaned, except Faye, who scowled._

_"Shit..." Carver cursed when he realized he only had half that much. "I don't have the coin."_

_Everyone stopped what they were doing and exchanged knowing glances. Faye was not the kind of woman you wanted to owe money. She was fearsome on the battlefield but an even more fearsome lover._

_"Don't worry, mate, I'll loan you the coin," Hugh offered._

_"Now that wouldn't be fair, would it?" Faye asked, though she was hardly qualified to speak of fairness. "This is his debt, not yours. I have ways of settling these things without coin."_

_"Wait, I have an idea!" Barling exclaimed. "What if Hawke gets a tattoo?"_

_There was a moment of contemplative silence. Carver wasn't sure if I really wanted a tattoo, but it was better than the alternative._

_"But he gets to decide what it is," Hugh added quickly._

_"Very well," Faye agreed. "As long as I get to decide where it is."_

_The whole process was a lot less painful than he had anticipated. Perhaps it was ale steeling his nerves. Or maybe it was the way she watched him, like she was a spider and he was an insect caught in her web._

_Compared to that, having a mabari war hound tattooed on his ass was the most painless thing in the world._

_Carver would never hear the end of it from Marian, but even that was all right, because Faye was significantly more intimidating._

_Plus there always remained at least a small chance that he wouldn't come back from Ostagar._

. . .

"Sister," he calls after her. Marian stops, but keeps her back to him. "I feel...I don't know. It's like Mother taking everything out on us. She was just scared. I don't have a place in the life she is trying to bring back."

"You know that's not true, Carver," she says. "You are as much a part of this family as I am."

"Well, sometimes it doesn't feel like it."

"Are you scared?" she asks then, softly.

"Aren't you? Here we are in the City of Chains. This place is practically run by templars. Doesn't that scare you?"

"Yes," Marian admits. "But if what you say is true, and you're not a part of this family, then it shouldn't concern you."

"You're right," Carver replies, because she is always right, after all. "I'm here if you need me, but I must find my own way."

Marian nods, indicating she has heard him. Then the mage exits Gamlen's house, probably off to do more odd jobs without him. She seems to prefer the company of that dwarf and the Grey Warden who just happens to be another mage. Aveline's new position as a guard keeps her very busy.

And of course his sister's mabari hound that she inexplicably acquired - supposedly from a secret shop in Darktown accessible by invitation only - remains at her side to the bitter end.

Carver swears the dog hates him.


	6. Forbidden Fruit

**A/N: **No flashback this time because the story itself is kind of tied into the past. It will make more sense when you read it. And remember I love reviews?

)O(

Someone knocks at the door to Gamlen's house. Marian goes immediately to answer it, lest their 'favorite uncle' make a fuss about visitors turning up at all hours of the day. Merrill stands there, looking not entirely certain what to do with her hands. She's never called on them at home like this before. Carver imagines the Dalish elf standing there for several minutes, trying to work up the courage to knock.

"Oh. Hello, Hawke." Merrill smiles.

"Hello, Merrill." His sister returns the same polite smile. "Does Varric have another job for us?"

"No, nothing like that."

A long silence passes in which they all expect the elf to elaborate, but she doesn't.

"Then...is something wrong?" Marian questions. "Are you settling in all right? It must be a big change, coming to Kirkwall after living your whole life in the wilderness."

"It is." Merrill agrees. "But I rather like this city. So much character and history of its own. It's even charming if you know where to look, and I get lost a lot so I'm bound to find something wonderful someday." She pauses, smiling wider now. "And that's what brings me here."

"I see..." He can tell Marian isn't quite following her thought process.

"You do? That's good!" The Dalish elf grows self-conscious once more. "This is a bit awkward...I'm here to speak with your brother, actually."

"Oh." she blinks, rapidly trying to make sense of all this. How is it, she wonders, that anyone could want to visit him by their own free will?

His sister turns to him and relays everything as if one can't hear it anyway in this pathetic little hovel. Merrill wishes to see him and does he want her to come back another time? Carver surprises them both by saying he doesn't mind the intrusion at all.

They walk out onto the porch and into the sweltering summer heat. At least here they have some privacy to discuss whatever it is she seems to think is so urgent. Marian simply shrugs and closes the door behind them.

As soon as his sister is gone, Merrill becomes the elven equivalent of a happy puppy. Her eyes light up and she moves about with limitless yet directionless energy.

"Remember when I asked if you missed Ferelden and you said—"

"Sometimes, yes." Carver remembers.

"Right, and then I said I missed blackberries and those little songbirds with the black caps on their heads?"

"Get to the point, Merrill." he grumbles.

"Well, it turns out blackberries _do _grow here! I found them, even in Kirkwall." The Dalish elf jumps with glee. "Still no luck with the birds, though."

Carver stares at her in awe. All this excitement over blackberries? Really? However, he is curious as to where one finds blackberries growing in the city. That is why he follows her to Hightown, assuming she intends to buy them from a merchant. But the elf doesn't even slow down as they pass through the market. In fact, she begins skipping to get there faster.

_Why did I agree to this again?_

"Here we are!" Merrill announces. The viscount's gardens. She is pointing; beyond the rows of vegetables and fruit trees and decorative flowers, a single blackberry bush grows, almost like it's waiting for them.

Carver is no stranger to trespassing; back in Lothering, he often found his way into places he shouldn't be. And they do have one friend in the guard, after all. No, that's not what worries him about this. Merrill is a mage, an apostate, a maleificar. He knows what they do to mages in Kirkwall. It's worse than in Ferelden. He can't let her get caught. She is too naive, too good for what they will do to her.

"Merrill, we can't."

"Why not?" the elf asks earnestly. "Don't you want blackberries? Come on, it'll be _fun_!"

This is about so much more than just blackberries.

"It's illegal, Merrill." he says, trying not to lose his patience. "This is somebody's garden. No, not just somebody; this is the _viscount's_ garden. It's private. You can't just come and go whenever you please and pick berries."

"Of course I can!" she protests. "Don't be silly, Carver. No one _owns_ a blackberry bush, expect maybe the earth."

"They do if it's growing on their property."

"But think about it; how long has it been since you've eaten a perfect, juicy blackberry?"

His first mistake is thinking about it.

"Too long," Carver admits.

Actually, his first mistake is following her at all, believing she wouldn't lead him somewhere utterly amazing and forbidden. Merrill really is like a happy puppy, discovering the world, loving everyone all at once.

She runs ahead, climbing a tree that scales the garden's stone walls. He can't just leave her to be captured. He follows her.

Once inside, they must remain quiet and ideally unseen. Guards patrol this area regularly. But this doesn't seem to bother Merrill. She saunters right over to the blackberry bush and plunges her hands in, plucking a perfectly ripe one which she gives to Carver. He inspects it; the berry is rather large and its skin is dark.

The taste is sweet, marvelously sweet. It reminds him of the delicious blackberry pies Mother used to make before Father died. It reminds him of jam spread on toast and summer in Lothering. It reminds them both of home.

"It's good, isn't it?"

"Yes." he replies. "Can I have another one?'

"Please do, just watch out for the thorns."

Carver still manages to prick himself a few times, but it's worth it, at least. Eventually they settle into a rhythm. A frenzy of berry picking. They fill their pockets with forbidden fruits. For now, this little piece of Ferelden is theirs, only theirs...until the guards come.

)O(

"I'm at a loss for words this time." Aveline says, but then keeps talking. "Honestly, what would possess you to break into the viscount's gardens in broad daylight and steal blackberries?"

"Homesickness." Merrill blurts out. "That's what Hawke calls it. We miss Ferelden. Dogs and songbirds and even blackberries. Don't you miss Ferelden, Aveline?"

There is no hint of that Ferelden soldier he once knew or the grieving woman he remembers on the ship to Kirkwall.

The guard blinks, then says quite seriously, "That's no excuse to break the law."

To illustrate her point, she puts them in a cell. The Dalish elf looks so odd surrounded by dusty stone walls instead of open green pastures, like a flower in an ill-fitting vase. She is pouting, gaze lowered to her hands folded in her lap.

"You're angry at me." she declares.

"I'm always angry." Carver points out. "Just ask anyone."

"You think I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're just honest, genuine, caring. That's good."

She smiles.

They are to wait until either their case is brought before the courts or someone comes to bail them out. Finally, someone does, although it is not who he expects. A guard unlocks their cell and releases them, standing behind the guard is none other than Varric.

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" Merrill exclaims in true delight, hugging him tightly.

"Dwarf," Carver acknowledges.

"Junior," Varric returns with a smirk. "So, I hear you two got into a bit of trouble. Lucky for you, Hawke gave me the gold to pay for your release. I won't tell you exactly what she said on account of the lady present."

"Why?" the Dalish elf questions, wide-eyed and curious. "What did she say?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, Daisy."

Carver can't stand the dwarf's insufferable humor and kindness. It's like the whole world is a joke that only Varric understands. Thankfully, they don't have to remain in each other's company for very long. As soon as they arrive in Lowtown, Varric escorts Merrill back to the Alienage, leaving Carver alone. He savors the peace and quiet.

The sinking sun lengthens shadows, darkening already dark alleys.

To his surprise and displeasure, he finds Marian sitting on the stone steps leading to Gamlen's home. She has been waiting for him, presumably for quite some time. He is not in the mood for this.

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it later." Carver snaps.

Not giving her the opportunity to respond, he keeps walking until he reaches the door. But he doesn't want to go inside either. Mother will no doubt lecture him on responsibility and the importance of preserving their family's 'noble' reputation. It's a joke. Maybe he will laugh. That would shut her up. Meanwhile, Gamlen will look on but say nothing. In fact, if the old man does say anything at all, it will be to lecture him on the importance of not getting caught.

"Merrill is a good person." Marian tells him. "She just wants to make people happy, you know, to do the right thing. She saw you were lonely and hurting and tried to help. Don't even try to deny it, Brother. Why do you think she didn't ask me? I miss Ferelden just as much as anyone else, but I don't show it. She knew I'd be okay."

"Is this going somewhere?" Carver demands impatiently.

"Just don't break her heart." she sighs. Then he notices the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips. "And don't break the law."

He will try not to do either anymore.


	7. Peaches & Cream

**A/N:**The dialogue at the end is taken from the game. Also, please review and thank you ever so much to those who have, especially my regular reviewers/readers.

**Warning:** Sexual content.

)O(

It's a lively evening in Hightown's Red Lantern District. The brothel is buzzing with its usual shady clients and painted-up whores. Carver isn't entirely sure what has brought him here, and he admits as much to the woman sitting across from him.

"I've never done this before."

"You mean you've never paid for it before?" Faith inquires, then her gaze drops lower and her hand rests on his thigh. "Or you've never done…_this _before?"

"No, no, I've done _that_." Carver says quickly, not wanting her to think he is sexually inept. For some reason, he cares what she thinks. "I've just never been with a…professional."

"A professional!" she laughs, the sound smooth and perhaps even genuine. "I'll have to remember to use that one someday."

Her hand moves farther up his thigh, slowly, and suddenly Carver is nervous.

"Can we just…talk first?"

"Talk? Ah, I see." Faith gets this look in her eyes then, like a knight who has been to the Void and back or a healer who has seen a particular plague countless times before.  
>Nothing surprises her. "A bit jittery, hmm? Don't worry, some whiskey should fix that."<p>

And it does.

It's all very precise. Seduction is an art Faith has no doubt had years to refine, boiling it down to a simple step-by-step process. Carver has never been with anyone this…experienced before. He feels at a disadvantage.

They make their way to one of the empty side rooms like two people fused together at the lips, hands blindly fumbling over the other's body, exploring these new sensations.

He tries not to think about all the other men – and women – who have touched her like this.

"Take your pants off." she instructs. He does, and when he turns around, she is completely nude. His eyes linger a little too long on the lovely sight of her bare breasts; she smiles.

"Like what you see?" Faith teases. All he can do is nod. He likes it very much. It's worth every silver.

And yet she could do so much better than this life. How does a woman like her end up working as a prostitute?

All thoughts flee his mind when she kisses him again.

After that night, Carver returns to the Blooming Rose, hoping to see her. But Faith is not there.

. . .

_Peaches was not her real name, of course, because her real name was Sophia. It was just a nickname that had stuck with her since childhood. It was an endearment her grandfather used for her before he passed away. Plus it had the added benefit of sounding adorable._

_She was just on the cusp of womanhood, all strawberry blond hair and big green eyes, when she began to notice boys. Particularly, Carver Hawke. His sisters were such sweet girls, except Marian who was often quiet and reserved. It was so nice how he looked after them. Besides, he was going to be a great warrior someday, known throughout the land..._

_Peaches didn't know how to tell him what she felt. She looked at him and dreamed of him, too, but Carver didn't seem to notice. A friend suggested she write him a letter, so she did just that:_

Dear Carver Hawke,

I think about you all the time. We don't know each other very well, but you should know that I might be falling for you. If you are interested, meet me behind Barlin's shed at midnight.

Love,

- A Very Lucky Girl

_She wrote it in her finest script and slipped it to him during the solstice celebration. Then Peaches waited. The sky grew dark but the air stayed warm and crickets sang loudly in the grass. Eventually, he appeared._

_"I was afraid you wouldn't come."_

_"Sophie?" he questioned. "I'm glad it's you. I was half-expecting that letter to be another one of my sister's pranks."_

_"Call me Peaches." she said. "I have something to show you."_

_This was her adolescent idea of love. She wanted to do something nice for him, something that would make him love her back. So she told him to take off his pants and proceeded to suck his cock. Unfortunately, he did not love Peaches afterward, but he was at least noticing her for once._

_Then they watched the stars for a while without looking at each other. Peaches was reminded of that old tale in which the princess was forbidden to see the soldier she loves and locked up in a tower. When he died in battle, the maiden wept, crying out to any god that might take her from this lonesome world. The gods answered her prayers, turning her and the soldier into shining stars. It was said the stars between them were her tears, and that one day they would be reunited when she has finally cried enough._

_That was when Carver told her about Ostagar. He would be going away to fight the darkspawn, fearsome creatures only thought to exist in stories. She wondered if he was afraid._

_"Will you look after my family while I'm gone?" he asks._

_Peaches would do just about anything for Carver Hawke, her soldier, the bravest man she had ever known._

_And so, when the Blight came and Father said they must leave, she begged Carver's mother and siblings to get out of Lothering while they still had the chance. But they insisted on waiting for him. Meanwhile, she and her family traveled to Denerim to live with her aunt. Little did they know that the darkspawn would find them there as well. It's the city where the Wardens made their last stand along with an army of outcasts fighting for the preservation of the whole._

_Peaches wondered why he never responded to her letters. Had he met someone else?_

. . .

"I saw you at the Blooming Rose the other night." Isabela says casually.

"What?" Carver tries not to seem too alarmed. "No, you didn't."

"I suppose someone else stole your chin to romance Faith?" Now the pirate is determined.

"That's unlikely." he scoffs, unknowingly falling into her trap. "She wasn't even working."

"Mm-hmm…" Isabela smiles mischievously. "Got you."

"Carver!" Marian exclaims, equal parts appalled and amused. "What would Mother say?"

"You're just...that's not what I..." He has been caught. There is no way out of this one. "Shit!"


	8. Belonging

**A/N:** Please review!

)O(

It's times like these that she wants very much to turn him into a toad.

They are fighting again. They are always fighting, it seems. But this time it is serious. They aren't just arguing like children over which one of them should lead the group on some odd job or another. No, because this time Carver wants to join the templars. And he had to have known just how deeply that sort of blatant betrayal stings. It is betrayal in his sister's eyes, because she is a mage and it isn't something she asked for but he _is_ asking for this.

Anders said often enough that someday everyone in Kirkwall would have to choose a side. The truth of that is becoming more and more evident each day. She doesn't get a choice - she never has - but he does. And he is choosing to stand against her when the time comes. That hurt more than anything.

Carver's namesake certainly would not have approved.

Still, she hadn't meant to say it. She hadn't really meant it at all. It just doesn't make sense how he can be so nice, defending her when no one else will, and then do something like this.

"Maker, Carver, I swear sometimes I wish the Void would open up right here and swallow you!" That is pretty bad, sure, but not nearly as bad as what she is about to say. "I wish that ogre had killed you instead of Bethany!"

"Yeah, well so do I!"

"What?" she asks, stunned. There's no way she could have heard him correctly. But then he says it again, and she knows. "Are you insane?"

. . .

_"What?" Mother stared at him, wide-eyed, like he was speaking onsense._

_"I'm joining the army." Carver repeated firmly. He'd practiced this a dozen times before._

_"Are you insane?" Bethany chimed in, standing up suddenly and marching over to him. She was about a head shorter than he was, but still rather terrifying, even without magic. "You can't!"_

_"And why not?" he asked, folding his arms._

_"Because...you...you'll get yourself killed!" she wailed. "It's always the ones with something to prove who get blown up first."_

_"The darkspawn don't blow people up." Carver argued._

_"You don't know that."_

_"I think it's a marvelous idea." Marian's quiet voice somehow put an end to all the fighting. Everyone turned to look at her. At first Carver thought she was being sarcastic, and was about to respond when she elaborated. "He deserves a chance to do something remarkable, and what better way than serving in the king's army? We should be proud of him."_

_A long silence took over in which Leandra continued to sulk, because he always would be her little boy and she worried for his safety._

_"If you die, Brother," Bethany added. "I will find you and animate your corpse."_

_Carver smiled. That seemed fair._

. . .

"I could never compete with you, you know." he sighs. "Oh yes, Bethany and I were twins but this...this magic thing...it was something I could never be apart of. I could never fully understand. And Father just l_oved _his gifted little girls so much. Sure, I was his only son but I was nothing special, not like you."

"You were jealous?" Marian is shocked, and that's putting it mildly. She has never seen this side of him before.

"I can never be a mage, but I _can _be a templar." Carver says. "I've never fit in anywhere. Maybe in the Order I'll finally have a home, a place where I belong, a family that appreciates me."

She shakes her head, refusing to believe he'd actually go through with it. "You really are insane."

Carver must know how much this will hurt Mother. It would be like losing one of her children all over again. But if he goes through with it anyway, all she can do is hope his first act won't be to lock her up in the Gallows as punishment for a lifetime of overshadowing him and such unintentional emotional torment. Plus that one time when she accidentally set his hair on fire.

"Then I hope you find whatever screwed up sense of validation you're seeking, Carver."

It takes every ounce of self-control she has not to zap him as he walks away.

"Bethany, if you can hear me," Marian whispers once he is out of earshot. "I'll make our brother pay for being such an idiot."


	9. Of Happiness & Humans

"What are you doing here, Merrill?"

Carver regards the elf wearily. He is on duty one bitterly cold day, patrolling the Gallows. No one here knows about his mother's death. They would just insist he take time off and grieve properly, but dwelling on it only makes things worse.

"I wanted to...apologize," Merrill says, holding out a water bottle which doesn't contain water at all. The dark and sweet liquid is in fact blackberry tea. Perhaps an ancient Dalish brew. Probably magical, because it seems to warm his very soul, easily melting his hard exterior. His walls come crashing down, but Carver tries not to let that show.

"Thank you."

"It isn't much, but I wanted you to know that we haven't forgotten you." she continues. "I think about you a lot, actually. Every single night I pray that some god will bring you peace, which I guess is foolish since all the stories say none of our gods listen to us anyway. Are you happy, Carver?"

"What?" The question catches him off-guard. 'Why do you ask?"

Merrill shrugs. "This seems like such a lonely place, and you're always so angry all the time. You don't look happy."

"My mother is dead." Carver replies, the words echoing through a hollow black abyss in his chest. And he suddenly realizes he has lost or broken something very important. Something is missing and he doesn't even know what it is.

. . .

_"She's dead," Marian stated. "Murdered."_

_Rage boiled within him as he struggled to keep himself composed while Gamlen blamed all mages, and by extension Carver's sisters, for Leandra's murder. Marian blamed herself as well. She had been there, completely helpless, unable to save their mother. Defeat was not easy for her to accept, especially when there was nothing more she could have possibly done. None of them had noticed the white lilies and made the connection. How could they have stopped what had already been set in motion?_

_Carver was furious. He knew he should have been here when they needed him most. It was selfish to run off and join the templars when blood mages like one of Hawke's closest friends still remained free to go around killing people if they so chose. Maybe that wasn't fair, but what part of this was? As a templar, he should have been able to stop it. That was his duty._

_"I know it hurts," Marian was saying. "But Mother wouldn't want us to dwell on it."_

_"I'm not you. I can't just shove my grief into a corner and never look at it again. I-" Gamlen broke off and almost began to cry. Apparently he had loved his sister more than he let on. "Why her? Why Leandra?"_

_Marian stood up, then walked slowly toward the fireplace. "The killer used Mother to magically reconstruct his dead wife," she explained, disgusted. "They had the same...face."_

_"What sort of nightmarish magic is that?" Their uncle paced about the room now, shouting. "Oh Maker! Maybe the templars are right. Lock the mages up, throw away the key!"_

_"You might want to remember your present company, Uncle."_

_"That's not what I..." He seemed suddenly nervous. "I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't mean that. I wished magic had never touched our family, but...you're the only family I have left. I don't want to lose you, too. I guess I've just been angry for so long." They all had. "It's not your fault. You're not the one who did this."_

_"The man who killed her is dead." Marian informed him, a kind of razor sharp fire in her tone._

_"Good...I hope it hurt."_

_Carver waited until after Gamlen left to approach her. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. Part of him thought he should apologize, while another part continued to seethe with directionless pain._

_"Sister," he called quietly. Marian lifted her head up and turned away from the flames to meet his eyes. Something about her gaze unsettled him. Had she truly changed so much these last few years?_

_"Carver..." Even her voice was broken now. "I couldn't save her, Carver. I tried...I tried so hard..."_

_"I'm not mad at you," he said. "And I'm sorry."_

_"Everything else...it doesn't even seem to matter now, does it?" His sister let out a bitter laugh. "You...and the templars...I just feel so numb to it all, Carver. Do you know what she said to me before she died? She talked about how proud she was of me, and how strong I've become. Mother thought I'd be okay. But I'm not, Brother, am I? I don't feel okay...I don't feel anything."_

_He didn't know what to say to that. They were the only family either of them had now. So he took her in his arms and held her for a while. The presence of another human being somehow lightened the burden of grief in his chest. But eventually Marian dried her eyes and muttered something about sleep before silently ascending the stairs._

_It wasn't long before her friends started to arrive. Most of them were turned away at the door by Bodahn, who had been instructed to do so as this was a very difficult time for the Hawke family, or what remained of it anyway. But evidently that abomination she claimed to love couldn't take a hint. Gamlen liked to say her attraction to apostates proved she was Leandra's daughter._

_Anders glared at Carver, and he glared back. Marian could do so much better. How was this boy supposed to protect her from the templars?_

. . .

"It's okay to be human, you know," the elf tells him. "No one can be angry forever, not even Hawke. You're her brother. I know this must be just as hard for you as it is for her. So, if you ever want to talk to someone, I'm here..."

Carver can hardly believe Merrill doesn't hate him, too. She is a blood mage, like the man who killed Mother. Yet he can't quite bring himself to hate her either, despite the fact that he is a templar now. Merrill isn't afraid of him. Only she would walk right up to a templar in a city where they lock away or execute her kind and have this conversation in public. Maybe it really is foolishness.

If things are truly as black and white as the Chantry says, then how could one blood mage destroy his life while another put it all back together again? Carver knows they aren't all demon-possessed monsters. Bethany had been an angel, and Marian...well, while most people don't understand the intricacies of her moral compass, it definitely exists.

He joined the Order for a sense of purpose, but until now Carver never realized what he'd lost. Something is missing, and he knows exactly what it is.

Maybe he could try filling the void inside himself with tea.

The thought is almost enough to make him smile.


	10. Oath

**A/N:**Not sure when this turned into Carver/Merrill, but it kinda did. I also want to explore Warden!Carver a bit, so after the next chapter I will probably do that. I know, I'm jumping all over the place here, but I like to get a lot of perspectives in. Reviews are greatly cherished.

**Important Note:** This will almost definitely be the last update before I go to New York. Meaning no more chapters up for a week or so.

)O(

That's when he learns elves do indeed frolic.

Carver can't keep his mother's death a secret from the Order forever, especially after the funeral, which is an elaborate gathering of black clad nobles he's never met before. It looks more like a procession for a woman he never knew either, a wealthy and high born lady, not his mother. He is not an Amell, and she chose to give up that life when she eloped with his father. Kirkwall seems to have forgotten that since she died.

They grant him mandatory leave to mourn her. It doesn't matter, because however much time they give him won't be enough anyway. There will never be a day that he wakes up and doesn't have to remind himself she's gone.

Carver tries to reconcile with Marian, if only for the sake of family and all that. They never really were friends, but they are siblings, so he has to try. His comrades would be mortified if they knew he visits an apostate on a weekly basis to have dinner. It's a weakness, and entirely against everything the Order stands for, but she is his sister. She is the only family he has now. Somehow, they must work things out, even though Marian certainly doesn't make it easy.

Everyone calls her Champion. Most of the reasons why he merely hears about, mixed into the usual tavern gossip. People sing of the remarkable things she's done, the battles she's fought, all of it fueled by Varric's tall tales...Marian is tearing herself apart a piece at a time just to prevent this damn city from doing the same.

He can see it in the new lines etched on her face, the dark circles beneath her eyes, which have become even colder than he remembers. She hardly sleeps and only eats enough to survive. It's like someone gutted her from the inside, bleeding life away. Carver doesn't say anything.

When he isn't with Marian, he spends his days holed up in gloomy taverns, numbing his own pain. Life goes on in this manner until one day Merrill bursts in like a ray of sunshine and somehow drags him to the Wounded Coast for a picnic. The Order would also be mortified if they ever were to find out.

"It's very beautiful this time of year." the elf observes.

"Yes, it is." he agrees. When had spring come to Kirkwall?

Then they eat. Merrill isn't the best cook, though he would never tell her that because he has no desire to make her cry. Almost everything but the fruit is slightly burnt, but Carver doesn't say anything.

"You know, when I'm with you I get this funny feeling in my stomach. It sort of feels like a bunch of butterflies are fluttering around, making me all jittery." Merrill says out of the blue. "Do you think that's normal?"

"I...don't know..."

"And I'm absolutely terrified I'll say something stupid or that you'll hate me-Oh!" Her face turns bright red. "I already said something stupid, haven't I?"

"Not at all. I don't hate you," Carver assures her. "In fact, I...I like you quite a bit."

"Oh..." Now she grins at him. "Did I miss something dirty again?"

"You're a good friend, Merrill, and I wish we could be..." He sighs. Damn the sincerity in those big eyes of hers makes this hard. "But..."

"But you're a templar, and I'm a blood mage." she finishes for him. "It's simple."

"Right," Actually, it is extremely complicated, but none of that really matters now. Their paths are set before them. Some by choice, others by luck of birth and factors beyond anyone's control. There is nothing he can do about the way the system works, if only it truly did work.

. . .

_At first, he had wanted to hurt Marian. He'd wanted to shock them all. But more than anything, he wanted to be someone, and it was far too late for doubts now anyway._

_"I solemnly swear by the holy flame which purified Our Lady, that I shall defend Her honor as well as protect the faithful, and uphold the Chantry's teachings." Carved paused to take a breath. "If I should ever willfully fail to do this, then may I cease to exist in the Maker's sight."_

_"So let it be," Knight-Commander Meredith added, handing him the vial of lyrium. Just like the mages' Harrowing, to become a templar on must ingest the essence of the Fade to better understand what they were facing. Carver did so reluctantly, since it had proved rather addictive to non-mages. But the recruits before him had seemed all right. "Welcome to the Order of the Templars, Ser Carver." His vows had been taken, the oath officially sworn, but it wasn't over yet. "Now it's time for your real test."_

_They brought in a young woman who looked so much like Bethany had that his breath hitched for a moment. She was bound and practically dragged along by two templars. He could not see their faces beneath their helmets._

_"Please, have mercy," the woman cried. "I'm innocent!"_

_"Constance Waters, you have been suspected of practicing blood magic and found guilty," Meredith explained more for his benefit since Constance obviously already knew that. "This is necessary for the safety of others as well as yourself."_

_The condemned looked around frantically, her soft eyes never meeting his. She saw the runes and knew immediately what was to take place. With cold horror, so did Carver._

_"No, don't do this! Please don't make me Tranquil," Constance pleaded fervently. "I'd rather die!"_

_"But that would be cruel." Meredith said calmly, and he could have sworn she smirked._

_The templars laid the mage down on what appeared to be some sort of operating table. She still whispered her protests but did not fight them. Would Bethany have fought? Marian certainly would._

_Then he was instructed to place the runes on her forehead, which meant looking into her eyes. Constance didn't strike him as a blood mage, but then again, neither did Merrill. There were no scars that he could see._

_If he failed, if he was not strong enough to do what the Order said was necessary, he would die. That much became clear to him. Carver was here to prove himself, and it was not the first time he doubted whether he had made the right choice._

_New recruits feared they might be next. What if he were to disappear, too?_

_After it was done, Constance opened her dead eyes and looked around like the world was new and nothing about this seemed strange to her._

_"Hello," she spoke in a flat tone, utterly emotionless. "How can I serve?"_

. . ._  
><em>

_Meredith later cornered him in a vacant corridor, and he wondered if they already knew._

_"Your sister has built up quite a reputation, risen to nobility on the riches she scavenged in the Deep Roads, hasn't she?" the Knight-Commander smirked. "Someone with that much power ought to be...watched more closely."_

_"I..." Carver found himself speechless. He had feared this moment would come for a long time, expected it, but now that it was finally here he realized how unprepared he was._

_"You know, I was like you once," she continued. "My sister was cursed with magic, and my parents wanted to protect her but it was too late. She became an abomination...wiped out my family along with our village, while I survived. From that moment forth I vowed to stop mages before they turn. A vow like that cannot be broken, Ser Carver. It's not too late for you."_

_Try as he might, he could not see what Meredith saw. Carver had once envied his siblings. Magic itself was not a curse. All power corrupted people, whether mage or templar._

. . .

"Merrill loves you."

"What makes you think that?" Carver asks, alarmed at his sister's sudden and astute observation.

"It's hard to miss when she skips around Kirkwall singing 'I love Carver.'" That's the closest she has come to smiling in months. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he sighs. "She makes me happy. But..."

"You're a templar." Marian finishes with a twinge of bitterness in her voice. She still hasn't forgiven him for what she perceives as betrayal, never mind that the Order has not once come knocking at her door in the dead of night, asking questions...

"And she's a blood mage," Carver adds solemnly. "I know."

Sometimes oaths should be broken for the sake of those you love.


	11. Rivalry

**A/N:** No flashback this time. Review? Pretty please? I also think this is going to be the last templar!Carver chapter. I feel like I should apologize since this chapter turned out to be most dialogue...

)O(

"I don't like you." Carver announces as he barges into the illegal clinic, which is hidden in plain sight below Kirkwall, where there are only slums and old mine shafts. The slaves no longer work the quarries, but the poorest of the poor remain. Most of them are Ferelden refugees driven into poverty by Marcher prejudice. Some of them escaped the Blight with just their lives only to end up dying of starvation or disease. Carver can't deny that this clinic helps them, but that doesn't mean he has to like Anders.

"The feeling is mutual then," aforementioned healer replies without looking away from his current patient. "Although I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before."

"You're not gonna take the Healer away, are you?" the little boy asks, blue eyes brimming with concern.

"I'm not here as a templar," Carver tells both of them, then looks directly at Anders. "I'm here as Marian's brother."

The healer seems to understand.

"All right, that should do it," he says, kneeling down in front of the boy who appears to have twisted his ankle on one of the many treacherous hazards in Darktown. "Just don't run for a few days. Give it time to heal on its own. Now you'd better get home, Cricket, before Evelina worries too much."

Cricket nods and remembers to walk out of the clinic rather than run. With the redheaded boy gone, they are alone. Well, unless you count Justice...

"I bet you feel pretty good about yourself." Carver remarks, folding his arms.

Anders ignores the comment. "Does Marian know you're here?"

"I don't need her permission."

"Right...of course it all comes back to _that_, doesn't it?"

"At least _I_ don't need to bring up the plight of the mages every time I talk to someone. It really is a miracle you haven't tried to persuade the Knight-Commander herself by now."

"Look," Anders is obviously trying very hard to control his temper. "I could be civil, but we've already established our dislike for one another, so what now? Why are you here? I have a lot to do. People need me." There is an insult buried in there somewhere:_ unlike you._

"Do you know what your problem is?" Carver challenges.

"Enlighten me."

"You are only capable of seeing the good in mages and the bad in templars. Your world is so black and white. Ironic, since you're the epitome of gray. Templars like Meredith would condemn you while mages like my sister come to your defense." Carver explains. "You can't even see how similar both sides are."

The mage is silent, stunned, but then: "How dare you compare me to Meredith-" He is cut off by Carver's fist. "Ow! What was that for?"

"I thought maybe I could beat some sense into you." the templar replies. "Don't you get it? You are proving my point!"

They're getting nowhere. Carver knows that. It would be like convincing Isabela that there are better things in this world than sex and sailing. Almost impossible. That isn't why he's come here anyway.

"This _is_ about Marian though, isn't it?" Anders' assumption proves correct.

"I worry about her." Carver admits with a sigh. "She's put all her trust in you and that's dangerous, _not_ because you're a mage, but because she doesn't handle losing people well. First there was Father, then Bethany, and Mother...and me. I worry how much more she can take, you know?"

"She hasn't lost you."

"Oh? This city's dragging her into a war and we are on opposite sides."

"Like you said, the world isn't so black and white." Anders says. And he is right. Maker, Carver has been beaten by his own words. Neither man speaks for a while. Eventually, Anders breaks adds: "I was there. I was there for her after Leandra-" There it is again: _unlike you._

"You are not allowed to say my mother's name!" Carver snaps, delivering yet another punch. Anger erupts from deep within him because he wasn't there.

"Okay! Maker...sorry. My point is, I love Marian. She believes in me. I'm not going to leave her. I would never betray or harm her in any way."

"Maybe not, but Justice might." He half-expects Anders' eyes to start glowing again, but they don't. Instead the healer merely sighs. Carver turns to leave, but then remembers something. "Evelina...that name sounds familiar. She's a apostate, right?"

"How do you know that? I swear, if you do anything I'll-"

"Relax," Carver silences the mage, who has greatly misinterpreted the situation. "My sister isn't the only one with informants. And speaking of, be careful threatening the authorities if you truly want to be there for her."

"You're a bad templar." Anders declares, flashing a smile.

"And you ought to get down on your knees and thank the Maker for it, because this little operation isn't as secret as you might think." Carver frowns. He can't quite meet the other man's eye. "It's not easy to walk away from something you were raised to believe in, you know?"

"Yeah...I know." Anders replies. "Thank you...I'll take good care of her, and I'll be there when the time comes."

That will have to be enough. "Sorry about your face..."

"This? It's nothing," the mage laughs, biting his busted lip. "Templars have done far worse to me."

Carver still doesn't like Anders, but he can tolerate him at least. Besides, he's sort of like family now. Bethany would have loved him if she were here today...


	12. The Last Straw

A/N: Long time, no update, eh? Well, here's a bit more. Review if you'd be so kind.

)O(

_She'd acquired a taste for cheap ale and strong whiskey during their time running with the Red Irons. Not that The Hanged Man served much else, even if they could afford it. So Carver was surprised when his dear sister returned home long after dark, the scent of expensive wine heavy on her breath._

_Carver hated living in this pathetic little hovel. They'd never been wealthy in Ferelden, and couldn't stay in one place for very long without drawing unwanted attention, but they managed fine on their own before the Blight. _

_Now, after chasing some faint hope of reclaiming the noble Amell estate for a year, Carver was sick of it all. Still, he had to admit that the Lowtown slums were at least slightly better than Darktown. Poor sods living down there, mostly Ferelden refugees, too. _

"_Where in Andraste's name have you been?" he demanded, careful to keep his voice down since Mother and Gamlen had already gone to bed. _

"_Out," Marian replied curtly._

"_Alone? You know how dangerous the city is at night."_

"_And I can look after myself. Besides, I wasn't alone."_

"_You've been drinking."_

"_I suppose I'm not allowed to do that now either? I'm not drunk, Carver," Marian sighed, perhaps wishing she was. "Most of it ended up decorating the walls anyway."_

"_You were with that elf," he said. This elf was strange, an ex-slave of some kind with the ability to rip a man's heart out of his chest and no qualms about using it. His hatred for mages angered Carver. If anyone had a problem with his sister, they also had a problem with him._

"_I needed to know if I could trust him at my back. You and Fenris would get along well, I think. You both don't like me much."_

_And without another word, she walked away._

_It took a week until Carver to finally noticed she'd stopped inviting him along for odd jobs. Then he remembered that Fenris used two-handed weapons as well. And Carver sure as hell didn't have any magical lyrium tattoos. But how could Marian cast her own brother aside for some glowing elf? _

_He started hanging around with Meeran's boys, much to Aveline's disapproval, although he got into less trouble than he ever did following Marian around. When she left Carver behind to go on her blasted Deep Roads expedition that she claimed would fix everything wrong in their lives, it was the last straw. _

. . .

The Hanged Man is packed tonight with its usual charming patrons. No one will notice an off-duty templar and his apostate sister having drinks together.

"You drink too much," he tells Marian.

"And you complain too much," she snaps.

Sometimes Carver glimpses the profound weariness behind her cold, detached expression. He knows that this damn selfish city won't rest until Marian is bled dry of everything she can possibly give. Templars and mages are pulling her apart. She keeps losing everything that matters.

His sister sacrifices too much for these bloody people. She'd let Isabela leave because the Qunari were an immediate threat with more lives at stake. The needs of the many. That's Marian Hawke for you.

Even his childish bitterness and anger toward her has faded over the years. Carver isn't sure what they're left with, but it feels raw and wounded.

"So how's the abomination these days?" he asks. "Has he turned on you yet?"

"Shut up. Don't call Anders that." She glares at him over her pint of ale.

"Well, that's what he is."

"I know," Marian sighs quietly. Then, after a while: "I think he's lying to me."

"About what?"

"I don't know. Something he's planning, maybe. Justice doesn't care a fig for me. Anders keeps saying everyone will have to pick a side soon, and that I'll be in more danger if I get involved with him. I'm lying to him, too, you know." Marian finishes off her drink and calls for another. "I still love Fenris."

"Maker's breath, Sister, as if your life wasn't complicated enough."

"I know. It's been what? Two and a half years now? I can't even look at a bottle of wine without thinking of him."

"That's really pathetic."

"Oh, and what about you? You're no less pathetic than I am. A templar pining after a Dalish blood mage for six years!"

"Not so loud! Strange tastes must run in the family. Mother gave up her nobility for an apostate, after all."

"I miss her," she murmurs. "And Bethany. Every damn day."

"Yeah. So do I."

He knows she's telling him these things because Bethany is gone.

Carver wonders, not for the first time since joining the Order, if perhaps he's already picked a side in this coming war. He does not want to meet his sister on the battlefield. She is all that remains of his family.

But the last straw is inevitable. It's only a matter of time now.


	13. Legacy: A Moment

**A/N:** A short scene inspired by the end of the Legacy DLC. In fact, I've incorporated a fair bit of dialogue from the game here, in addition to my own.

_. . ._

_"__A small matter. A moment for the last of the family, and an echo. You'll forgive me if I take a few liberties..."_

_- Varric_

. . .

After Corypheus, after the blood and Father's secrets, the two remaining Hawke siblings return to Marian's estate for a much needed drink. She comes in with a bottle of very old Tevinter wine, placing it on the table in front of Carver before sitting down.

"Fenris gave this to me. Danarius left it at the mansion," she says. "I think it's fitting since we killed an ancient magister today."

Marian pours the wine, and he realizes how silent the estate is now. Just her old war dog barking and the fire crackling. That elven girl, Orana, is quiet as a mouse; she tries to keep dust from settling on the many untouched things in this lonely house.

Carver wonders if anyone has gone into Mother's room since she died.

"I never expected to hear Father's voice again. I never realized I'd forgotten it." Marian is already halfway through her first glass. "It's been a long day, Brother."

"The attacks, darkspawn, every bloody part of it all because of what happened years ago. What he did for Mother. For all of us, really..." Carver sighs. "It's not right that she isn't here to...I don't know...just listen, I guess. I want to talk to her."

"She's gone," Marian snaps, her tone bitter and...guilty. "We can't."

"I know. But remember I didn't get to say goodbye."

"Then count yourself lucky. You didn't have to see her like that, What that _bastard_ did to Mother. I could've ran faster or done more to save her...and Bethany."

"I'm sorry, Sister. I didn't come here to fight. You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything that's gone wrong. You did all you could, even if you don't believe it. You always have."

"Yet it's never enough."

"I'm tired of losing things, too," Carver tells her quietly. "But it is not your fault. A mad blood mage killed Mother, not you. You made sure he wouldn't be hurting anyone else."

"Carver, why did you join the Order? We never talked about it, and for a long time I didn't care, but I should at least try to understand." If this is only to change the subject, she must be desperate. "We were both so angry back then. Was it really just to spite me?"

He waits a moment before giving his answer, meeting her gray eyes. "It wasn't you. It never was. We spent so long running, and why? Because of magic, the Blight, money...Well I'm no mage. I'm no Warden. And you didn't need me. But maybe...maybe there's one thing I can do. Father believed in a templar. Why can't I?"

"I can't lose you, too, all right?"

"You won't have to."

"Never make promises you can't keep. Now, don't you have some evil mages to hunt down?" The familiar icy tone returns to her voice. It's almost a comfort; perhaps she will be okay after all.

"I suppose it's back to the way things are. Take care, Sister."

He leaves Marian alone in her empty estate, still and silent as a tomb, haunted by a million memories. She talks to a ghost. Tomorrow she will wake up early, take some of that magical hangover cure, and once more be the champion Kirkwall expected. It's the way things are.


End file.
